“Oliver…” I repeated softly, tasting the name like something bitter that had gone stale. “He was my boyfriend.” The words came out smaller than I meant them to–fragile, reluctant. My fingers found the hem of Gage’s hoodie again, twisting it between them like I could wring the memory right out of my skin. “Well–he was supposed to be.”
After seeing what Gage was like, it was mind–numbingly obvious that Oliver had never been that. He didn’t treat me like a boyfriend should. He didn’t act like I was his girlfriend. I could see it now, so clearly it almost hurt. I was his study buddy who gave him a blowjob every time he passed a test. I was the girl who filled his empty hours when Jenna was too busy. I was a convenience. Someone who worshipped him enough to make him feel important. And he loved that–loved standing on that pedestal I built for him.
Clyde didn’t say anything at first. He simply nodded once, slow and deliberate, an invitation for me to keep going without pushing. His quiet steadiness gave me room to breathe.
I let out a long breath. “We dated for a few months. He was… charming at first. One of those guys who made you feel like you were the only person in the room. I didn’t see what everyone else did–how fake it all was. I thought he loved me.”
The air thickened as I spoke, like every word I released pulled the memories closer. “He used to text me constantly, tell me he missed me, that I was his everything. And I believed it, because why wouldn’t I? No one had ever looked at me that way before. No one had ever picked me.”
My voice started trembling slightly as the memories crawled behind my eyes, heavy and sharp.
Clyde’s voice came gently, like he was stepping onto fragile ice. “And something changed.” His deep brown eyes were locked on me–not the notepad, not his pen. Me. I was his focus, and that small act of presence nearly undid me.
A humorless laugh slipped out. “Everything changed. I mean… I even applied to go here to be with him. But then I figured out that not only was I just a stand–in–I was being used.” I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “After I got accepted, I found out he’d been hooking up with his ex. Or-” My breath hitched. “I walked in on them. Right in the middle of it. And instead of letting me go, which I was fully prepared to do, they decided to humiliate me in front of everyone.”
Clyde’s brows rose slightly. “Humiliate you how?”
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My nails dug into the soft cotton of Gage’s hoodie. The words scraped their way up. “They leaked photos,” I whispered. “Private ones. Of me. Ones I thought would stay between us.” My voice cracked on the last word, the sound so fragile I barely recognized it as my own.
Silence followed–steady, patient, and strangely relieving. Clyde didn’t gasp. Didn’t shift uncomfortably. He just sat there, calm and grounded, his gaze kind but not pitying.
“I became the joke,” I continued, quieter now. “People stopped seeing me as… a person. I was just ‘that girl.‘ Every time I walked into a room, they’d whisper, or laugh, or–God–the looks. It didn’t stop. And when we graduated, it just became an online thing instead. Like it was never going to die.”
Clyde’s tone was low, calm, deliberate. “That sounds incredibly violating, Bree. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
My chest trembled with the effort of holding it all in. “I told myself I didn’t care. That I was strong enough to get over it. But then I’d hear people talking, or see someone scrolling through their phone, and I’d freeze. I’d start imagining that they were looking at me again. I still do sometimes.”
He nodded slowly, expression unreadable in that way that made him feel safe. “That kind of betrayal leaves scars, Bree. Emotional ones don’t always heal on their own.”
I swallowed, the next words clawing their way up before I could stop them. “And now… Oliver’s at this school too.”
His pen paused midair. “He’s here?”
”
I nodded, my throat tight. “And Gage’s sister–Jenna–was part of it. She helped him. She was the ex.” The admission felt like tearing off a bandage I’d been pressing down for months. Now she acts like nothing happened, and I don’t even know how to exist around her. Every time I see her face, I want to scream.” My chest tightened. “I thought she’d at least try to get back at me, but I think Gage… dealt with that somehow.”
Clyde leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve been carrying that anger for a long time.”
“I don’t want to be angry,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I hate it. I hate that they still have that power over me. That part of me is still stuck back there–humiliated, small, scared. Gage doesn’t get it. He tries, he really does, but I think part of him just wants to erase it all. Pretend it didn’t happen.”
My voice cracked again. “But it did. It happened, and I’m still here, and I don’t know how to stop feeling like… like I’m living inside a shadow of that girl.”
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Clyde’s silence stretched–not awkward, but intentional. He studied me with a gentleness that didn’t demand anything from me, and yet I felt like he was quietly reaching in, holding the weight with me.
Finally, his voice broke the quiet, smooth and careful. “Do you want to erase it?”
The question landed like a stone in my chest. My first instinct was to say yes–to wipe it all clean, to forget that part of me ever existed. But even as the thought formed, I knew it wasn’t the truth. The version of me that lived through that pain, that clawed her way back to her feet,
was still me. And she deserved more than to be erased.
“I used to,” I admitted after a long pause. “But not anymore. I just want to stop feeling like it
defines me.”
“That’s a good start,” Clyde said softly. “You’re not your trauma, Bree. You’re the one who
survived it.”
His words sank into me like sunlight breaking through fog. I wanted to believe him–God, I wanted to–but the word survivor felt foreign, like a coat two sizes too big. Survivors were strong, unshakable, brave enough to stand tall in their scars. I wasn’t that. I didn’t feel like I’d survived anything. I felt like I was still crawling, still trying to find my footing on a floor that wouldn’t stop moving.
“I think,” Clyde continued after a moment, his tone thoughtful, measured, “that what happened to you wasn’t just about betrayal. It was about control. Oliver and Jenna took control of your story, your image, your sense of safety. Part of what we’ll do here is help you
take that control back.”
My chest ached at the kindness in his voice. It wasn’t pity–it was something gentler, steadier. A belief that maybe, just maybe, there was still something in me worth rebuilding.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I whispered.
“That’s why you’re here,” he said simply. “We start small. One piece at a time. Maybe we start with what makes you feel safe now.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Safe?”
“Yes,” Clyde said. “Is there anything–or anyone–that helps you feel grounded when things start to spiral?”
The answer came instantly. “Gage.”
Just saying his name eased something in me. My voice softened, a quiet truth threading through every syllable. He was my safe place. He always had been. From the very first time
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we talked–back at that stupid speed dating event–I just… knew he could be that for me.
Clyde smiled a little, the corners of his mouth lifting with something that looked like genuine. warmth. “Tell me why.”
I breathed out, my shoulders dropping a little as I let myself think of Gage. “Because he doesn’t see the broken parts first. He just… sees me. He doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile, but he’s still careful in his own way. He holds me like I’m made of glass, but he kisses me like I’m fire.” A nervous laugh escaped me. “And somehow, he makes both things true.”
Clyde’s smile deepened, quiet and knowing. “That sounds like someone who gives you space to heal.”
“He does,” I said softly, my gaze dropping to my lap. “Even when he doesn’t realize it.”
For the first time since I’d sat down, I exhaled fully. It felt like I’d been holding my breath for months–maybe even years–and now, slowly, I was letting it go. Clyde didn’t rush me. He just let the silence sit between us, warm and comfortable, like sunlight resting on the room’s edge.
When I finally glanced up, he gave me a small nod. “That’s enough for today, Bree. You did really well.”
“Really?” I asked, almost surprised by how sincere he sounded.
“Really,” he said, setting his pen aside. “You showed up. You were honest. That’s more than most people manage their first time.”
Something in me shifted at that–a fragile flicker of something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Ho pe. Small, but steady.
“Same time next week?” he asked, standing as he straightened the notepad on the coffee table.
I nodded, slipping my feet back into my shoes, the weight in my chest a little lighter than before. I stood, reaching across the table to shake his hand. His grip was warm and steady, grounding in a way that made me understand why people came back to him.
“Thank you,” I said quietly,
“You’re very welcome,” he replied with a gentle smile. “You did good work today.”
We walked to the door together, and as he opened it, the soft creak of the hinges pulled me back into the hallway–and right into the world where Gage was waiting.
He was on his feet before I even stepped out, his tall frame filling the narrow corridor, those
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green eyes instantly locking on mine like I was the only thing in his universe. His expression softened when he saw me–concern melting into tenderness. And for the first time all day, I felt something close to peace.
“Thank you, Clyde, again” I said, turning back briefly with a small, genuine smile.
“You’re so very welcome, Bree,” he said, returning it. “Have a good week–and I’ll see your
soon.”
The door closed softly behind me, leaving Gage and me alone in our little bubble of quiet.
I looked up at him, at the boy who made safety feel like love and warmth and home all wrapped into one person. His hand came up, thumb brushing along my cheek as his brows furrowed. “How did it go, gorgeous?” he asked, his voice low and cautious, like he was scared to push too hard.
“It was actually really good,” I said, unable to keep the smile off my lips. “I don’t know… maybe it’s a good thing that I’m doing this.”
”
Gage’s whole face lit up at that, a proud, bright grin cutting through his usual cocky calm. “Of course it is, gorgeous,” he said, dipping his head closer until his breath brushed my skin. Just as long as you wear my name on your back when you’re in there,” he added, his voice turning low and rough, the teasing laced with something darker–protective, possessive, him.
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”
That crooked grin of his deepened, the kind that always made my pulse skip. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, Bree Morgan. And honestly? Even if I could change it, I wouldn’t.”
My chest squeezed tight, the emotion swelling in my throat. Before I could answer, he leaned down and captured my mouth in a kiss that stole the rest of the world away. His lips moved with slow, deliberate heat–less about hunger, more about reassurance. Every press whispered, you’re safe now.
When he finally pulled back, I was already melting into him, dizzy from the taste of him and the gentleness that followed.
“Now come on,” he said, his tone shifting playfully as his hand slipped down to the curve of my back. He reached into my pocket and gave my ass a small squeeze, the grin that followed wicked enough to make my face burn. “Let’s get those brain juices running, so I can eat my ice cream off of you later.”
I gasped, swatting his chest lightly. “Gage!”
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He just winked, completely unbothered, that teasing glint sparking behind his eyes. “What? I’m motivating you, baby.”
The laughter that bubbled out of me felt unrestrained, real–the kind that came from deep inside, where things had been heavy for too long. My cheeks were flushed, my heart light, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like a ghost of the girl I’d been.
I felt alive. Seen. Loved.
And as his arm slipped around my waist, tugging me close while he murmured something about “extra toppings,” I realized Clyde was right.
Maybe this was what taking control back looked like–one small piece at a time.
Emilia M
I don’t want to make this part of the story take up too much space, simply because we have so much ground to cover Now, remember, Bree doesn’t know that Gage had Oliver kicked out yet, and she only knows about his conversation with Jenna that took place in the hall. So while we know a lot of stuff, Bree only knows some of it
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